


Red Death

by LadyWithTheLamp2017



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: 1910s, Angel of Music, Christine Daae look-a-like, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, First Kiss, Ghosts, Hauntings, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera References, New Year's Eve, Operas, Other, Specters - Freeform, arias, paris opera house, the opera ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWithTheLamp2017/pseuds/LadyWithTheLamp2017
Summary: Seventeen year old Camille Beauchamp visits Paris with her bachelor Uncle Roland and the two attend the New Years Even Bal Masque at the Opera. But Camille has a ghostly encounter she will never forget!
Kudos: 3





	Red Death

I will never forget that New Year's Eve in 1910. It all began as a joke...a lark really. My Uncle Roland and I were taking the grand tour...London, Rome, Paris. We had been four nights in Paris when I audaciously suggested to him New Year's Eve,

"Let's go and join the revelers at the Paris Opera House!"

It was without a doubt a shocking suggestion but my uncle, being a bachelor and one inclined to a little mischief, smiled slowly and nodded his head.

"Alright, my little Camille. We shall go and amuse ourselves with the actors and actresses! Only have you a costume to wear, niece?"

"Have I!" I returned saucily, tossing my dark brown curls.

I had heard rumors that the Paris Opera House was haunted by a malicious spirit who had caused any number of accidents and misfortunes to befall the unwary when they displeased him. He went by Opera Ghost much of the time but the name which I preferred, and which tickled my spine and caused the fine hairs to stand up on my arms was the Phantom of the Opera.

I had heard the old story of how he had appeared in a puff of smoke to a crowd such we would immerse ourselves in tonight, wearing an elaborate red costume and death's head. He had delivered demands to the managers and his obsession was a young opera singer whom he desired to place in the limelight. The rest of the story, for me, was shrouded in mystery.  
Being, however a consummate lover of ghosts and legends, I was more than intrigued by the colossal building said to have been his domain for years: The Opera Ganier.

And tonight, I would see it! I would be inside the grand foyer and amongst the revelers of the yearly Bal Masque! In all my seventeen years nothing so exciting had ever happened to me! Back home in Baltimore a dull yet polite young man waited for me to complete my tour so that we could be married...but here...here in gay Paris, anything could happen....  
*

I swept into the foyer of the Opera on my uncle's arm, my slave girl costume swirling about me as I gaped through my bejeweled mask at the marble and onyx mosaics and sensual nude statuary. Mirrors on the walls reflected the already merry party goers and made the space seem twice as huge as it was.

"Oh, Uncle Roland!" I gasped. "It's just as I dreamed!"

My uncle smiled indulgently under his black velvet mask. He wore a simple domino which served to add to his bulk. He patted my hand.

"Just remember, Camille, we are in Paris. Don't wander off and get lost. I'll never find you in this vast place!"

Unbeknownst to me at first, the revelers had paused in their laughing and dancing to stare at me. Their whispers finally caught my ear.

"Christine Daae....looks just like her in the pictures I've seen...."

"....could be her twin...I remember the stories..."

"It's an omen…an evil omen!"

"But she would be past sixty by now...?"

"That costume...remember the pictures from Hannibal?"

"It's her I tell you...or her ghost!"

I was very discombobulated by all this. I turned to look over at my uncle, but he was gone...disappeared into the crowd. Slightly more annoyed than alarmed I tried to seek him out. As I wound my way through the crowds the whispers followed me and some even made the sign against evil. What was wrong with these people?

Suddenly, a flash of light and a puff of smoke erupted upon the mezzanine and amid screams and gasps of alarm, all turned to stare in awe at the creature that emerged from within. He was easily over six feet tall and dressed head to toe in scarlet velvet, a long red cloak draped dramatically over his shoulder.  
He wore a death's head mask and as I looked upon him, I suddenly shivered with fright and excitement. This was too good. Whoever the player was, he was capturing the images from my nightmares perfectly!  
It was him! The Phantom of the Opera!

He looked disdainfully at the rowdy party goers whose activity had ceased the moment he appeared. An uncomfortable silence reigned as I realized that their gazes were divided equally between me and the apparition. The dancers began to back away from me, leaving me quite alone in the middle of the dim foyer while the scarlet figure began to slowly descend.

He turned his head in my direction and seemed to falter a moment, though I could have imagined this. He continued, down the marble staircase, coming by slow degrees closer to me. I was rooted to the spot, unable to move, though my heart was in my throat.

His eyes under the mask seemed to glow with an unearthly light as he came nearer me. I could see passion, adoration, and something else...something I couldn’t name and have never seen before or since. I pushed my mask up, exposing my face to him. I could hear his swift intake of breath.

Almost involuntarily I began to move towards him, his pull over me so magnetic a force that I could not have resisted if I had tried. Once I was within arms-length of his terrifying presence, he held out a black gloved hand and I, thinking surely this was all part of the act, trustingly put my own into it....  
*

I was in a boat. I was reclining against some silken cushions while he poled the boat over an underground lake. Surprisingly I felt no fear as his golden eyes under the mask never left me. I thought briefly of Uncle Roland but that thought was soon clouded over by the wonder and mystery of where I was and who I was with.

The boat touched shore and the Phantom (for I knew by now that was who it surely was) stepped over the side and into the shallow water. He swept me up into his arms and carried through a portal that mysteriously opened of its own accord at our approach. I instinctively put my arms about his neck as he crossed the threshold of his vast lair with me.

Once inside the Phantom deposited me on my feet and stood looking at me for a long moment before kneeling in front of me and taking both my hands in his and kissing them.

I was still too dumbfounded to say anything. I watched him hold and kiss my hands with almost worshipful adoration until tears came unbidden to my eyes.  
Suddenly he stood and turning away from me he strode over to a large organ that stood against a wall I had not noticed before.

He turned to face me, halfway up the dais and beckoned me to follow. I obeyed and soon was standing directly beside him as he seated himself at the instrument.

He turned to regard me with fire in his eyes. "Let's sing something from the opera, shall we?"

I swallowed and was unsure how to answer these, his first words to me. But he had turned his attention away from me and back to the organ. As he played the introduction to what I recognized as the duet between Othello and Desdemona, I stole a glance around his vast underground domain and my eyes soon came to rest on an object that gave me such a start, and a jolt of fear coursed through me at once.

A small miniature in a gold frame with the name 'Christine' engrave upon it: she was a young woman with dark curls, large innocent eyes and...oh, my God! It was me!

I suddenly backed down the dais, away from the specter that sat there playing as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. My hand went to my stomach as knots of dread and fear began to twist my gut....my head spun, and I felt dizzy. I was going to faint...for the first time in my life.  
*

I rested on the divan in the middle of the room. The Phantom (for I did not know what else to call him in my mind) held my head in his lap, gently bathing my temples. When I tried to sit up, he gently restrained me and with the most plaintive of sighs said,

"You are still frightened of me."

It was a sad, defeated statement and my heart eased its frantic pattering for a moment and became awash in something akin to sympathy for the spirit which so lovingly tended me.

I once again attempted to sit up and this time he did not prevent me but kept his sorrowful eyes fastened on my face. I looked at him in perplexed curiosity.

"You are not as...terrifying as people say," I stated, surprised at the echo of my voice in that dark cavernous space.

"You know I am only a man, Christine...."

I shook my head. "You are a ghost and...wait. What did you call me?"

The Phantom tilted his head. "Why, your name of course, my darling." He moved closer to me on the divan. "Christine."

I started to protest and then I remembered the miniature...the thing that had caused my fainting fit. I looked over at it where it rested beside the organ. I suddenly began to understand...

I looked back at the restless spirit beside me. "But surely you must know I'm not..."

"You have let your voice go," he interrupted. "Have you not been singing?"

I was unable to answer this strange query, so caught off guard was I. "Ah...I well, I don't...I mean yes. I suppose I haven't been singing as much lately."

He rose from the divan and offered me his hand. "I am a little disappointed, Christine. After all the time we spent and the hard work...I am ashamed you would throw it away like that."

He led me over to the organ once more and we ascended the dais. He seated himself yet again and began to warm up. The thunderous chords echoed throughout the vast underground vault and filled me with such awe for the genius that sat before me, I momentarily forgot my bemusement.

He led me through the scales which I remembered from voice lessons I had taken back home. But this...this was different. I could barely keep up with his demands and the fierce way he would sometimes look at me from under the mask when I hit a sour note, filled me with such trepidation, I wanted to flee. But I continued. He made me practice scales higher, longer, and twice as complicated as my vocal teacher had. He seemed to be trying reach a level of perfection with my voice that I had not yet attained. I can’t, I thought. I can’t do it! But I did…time and again. At first my voice followed his lead, but then it was if he pulled me alongside him, then pushed me out ahead of him. Now the notes from the organ chased my vocal scales…and it was as if I was running from the devil himself. Devil? Or angel…?

As I opened my mouth to begin the third round of scales, I thought dimly to myself, even as I followed his every instruction carefully, I will never reach those heavenly levels he’s trying to push me towards!

Finally, he deemed me fit to sing a duet with him and we began. It was a simple aria to warm up, he said, but I found I was only just adequate to cover it. His voice was magnificent...it mesmerized me, and I think covered a multitude of sins in my own voice. Again, I was chased by his magical tones, the way his dulcet tenor underscored my coloratura. He wished me to hold the last note out longer than I was accustomed to doing and when I finished, I had to gasp for breath and place a hand to my heaving chest. I regarded him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He looked quizzically at me, disapproving. "I am afraid, Christine, that your lovely instrument will never be the same."

No, I thought. Not after tonight. But I merely bowed my head in shame as if it were my travesty. "I am sorry I disappoint you. Forgive me, monsieur."

He started then. "Erik," he said. "You know my name is Erik."

I quickly looked up into his glowing eyes and nodded yet again. "Yes, Erik."

So, the ghost had a name. I watched him shuffle through his sheet music as if he were trying to find something. When he was evidently satisfied with his search, he turned to me once more.

"This is my Don Juan Triumphant," he announced. "Will you join me again?"

I moved closer to the music and looked upon row after row of intricate, complicated notes written in red. I drew back and looked at him in horror.

"I can’t sing that! I haven't been trained..."

He gave me a long look that silenced my protests. "Do you trust your angel, Christine?"  
My lips parted, my eyes locked on his. “Angel…” I murmured.  
What choice did I have?

We sang it. The duet was magnificent, beautiful, nothing like I had ever heard and my voice and his blended together like they were made for each other. It was incredible! How could this be? A couple of hours down here with him and I was singing like a lark! Never had I reached such heights with my voice teacher...never had I sung such passionate and complicated notes. I barely recognized myself...

That was when I felt the stirrings. I pressed a hand to my belly, my eyes sought his as I climbed the scales with him. Flutterings like millions of butterflies seemed to have been released inside me as I heard our voices crescendo in that cavernous space beneath the Opera.

It took me several moments to compose myself after we finished the duet and I saw him once more gazing at me very quizzically. Will he realize I am not her? I wondered. My hand wandered to my throat from which, a few moments ago, unearthly sounds had emerged. My eyes sought his again, questioning, confused.  
But he neither spoke, nor moved, just stared at me intently with those cat-like eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.

After several awkward moments, I looked down at my beringed toes. Realizing how scantily I was dressed I blushed. His hand reached for mine again. Gloveless I saw now that they were large but thin, with boney fingers that both repelled and fascinated me. Graceful, yet gruesome. How could that be? And when he closed them around my own fingers, a fragile thread snapped inside me. I felt no terror or disgust, only…a kind of tenderness and sorrow. This beautiful creature, shut away down here, no one to ever hear his magnificent voice or feel the magic in his touch…

"Ah...I ah must go now," I muttered, gently pulling my hand from his.

I heard him sigh. "I suppose you must. You must return to...him."

I glanced up quickly. His tone was so fatalistic. Was he speaking of Uncle Roland? My fiance, George? But how would he know either one of them?

He stood up and allowed me to precede him down the dais steps. When we reached the shore where the boat was tied up, he turned me round to face him. His eyes traveled over my form as if trying to memorize everything about me before letting me go.

He took one of my hands and gently pressed something onto my finger. "I thank you for bringing this back to me so long ago, mon ange, but I would rather you keep it. Remember me when you look at it."

I kept my eyes fastened on that mask as he said this. It took all my courage to utter the words I had been dying to say ever since he brought me here.

"May I....may I see your face?"

He stiffened, his eyes wrathful. For a moment I thought he would refuse. But slowly he raised his hand and curled his fingers round the edge of the mask and peeled it away.

I gasped in shock at his hideous visage. It was horrible...horrible! I would never forget it as long as I live. And yet, the sadness in those eyes that stared down at me from the ravaged face filled me with such longing to bring some peace to his tormented, wandering soul.

"May I...touch you?" I asked, tremulously.

His eyes looked with such longing at me, it nearly broke my heart. "Please do," he whispered.

I reached up and with gentle, feather light touches, stroked the ravaged and terrible face with my fingers. He closed his eyes and seemed to revel in my caress. I smiled gently at him and it was not lost on me that a measure of peace and calm seemed to descend on this otherwise forgotten realm of darkness under the Opera House.

I slowly reached up on the tips of my toes and pressed a gentle kiss to the twisted and deformed lips, then backed away. His startled gaze followed me as I stepped into the boat and he held on to my hand for as long as he could while the boat drifted away from that shore almost as if by magic and he began to fade.

I sank down, as if pressed by invisible hands, onto the silken cushions in the bottom of the boat and watched as he continued to fade before my eyes until he was no more than a whisper of smoke on the other shore....and then a voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once enveloped me with its enchanting song. I leaned back as the beautiful voice lulled me to sleep and I drifted away in the boat...  
*

"Camille!" my uncle's voice jerked me out of my reverie. "Camille, wake up girl, it's almost midnight! The fireworks are about to begin!"

I slowly sat up from the gilt chair in which I was sitting and rubbed my eyes. I looked about confusedly.

"Midnight?" I muttered. "But it can't be! I've been gone for hours. It must be morning now..."

Uncle Roland looked at me as if I were mad. "What are you talking about, you silly girl? You sat down to wait for me while I fetched you a glass of champagne only moments ago and then I returned to find you nodding off. What a spectacle!"

I slowly rose from the chair and took the glass my uncle offered. Then I gazed up at the grand staircase which was flooded with merry makers.

"But did you see him? Did you see the Red Death?" I asked.

My uncle burst out laughing. "My dear you've been reading too much Poe! Come with me outside and we will watch the display and toast to 1911!"

He led me out and I followed him, befuddled, onto the sweeping steps on the rotunda side of the Opera. Midnight had just struck, and I took a great gulp of champagne as the first explosion burst in the night sky. The crowds gasped in appreciation of the blue and red shower of lights and began celebrating all anew...kisses were exchanged and bawdy shouts in French were heard, yet I was lost in thought, contemplating all that had happened...or I thought had happened.  
Had I dreamed it all?

Another explosion lit up the sky, reflected off something that gleamed dully on my hand. I looked down and drew in my breath sharply as the fireworks illuminated the strange gold ring on the third finger of my left hand.

_Remember me when you look at it..._


End file.
